Stephen Baxter: Resplendent

‘Only I have the vision for such a solution,’ she murmured. ‘Only I have the longevity to see it through. That’s what gives me the right.’

Symat said, ‘What would I have to do?’

‘The Guardians are watching you, Symat, through the Conclave, through all our Virtual eyes. All you have to do is formulate your decision, and it will be made so. You won’t need to throw a switch.’

‘It will happen straight away?’

‘Why wait?’

Mela’s eyes narrowed. ‘ And what will become of Symat ?’

Luru frowned. ‘For a brief moment he will be the epicentre of cosmic forces. Humans are frail creatures.’

‘I wouldn’t live through it,’ Symat said slowly. ‘I am going to die.’ But somehow even that didn’t perturb his eerie calm.

‘Symat, you don’t have to do this,’ Mela said.

Luru reached out as if to touch him, but she could not, of course, ‘Every true saviour must lay down his life,’ she said.

‘Just like your own Symat,’ Mela said. ‘He died for his beliefs, you said.’

‘Yes,’ the Curator snapped. ‘And now you’ve cooked up another Symat to go the same way. What’s going on in that head of yours, Ascendent? Is this really about saving Earth, or just working out your own million-year-old guilt? Is this all about you?’

‘You disgust me, Curator, you and your inane grinning,’ Luru said coldly. ‘You disguise your fear of me within your hollowness. But I know you.’

The Curator was obviously shocked, and again Symat saw fierce resentment burn. But he persisted. ‘And what will you do if he refuses? After all your planning and preparations, to be thwarted now by the whim of a boy—’

‘I will start again,’ she said smoothly. ‘An Ascendent always has time. You should know that, Curator.’

‘Enough,’ Symat said.

They all fell silent.

He still felt calm, calmer than any of these Virtuals, it seemed. ‘You’re saying this is the only choice,’ he said to Luru. ‘The only way forward for humanity. It’s this or the booths.’

‘This or the booths,’ she said.

He looked at a sky full of dying stars. He reminded himself he was a boy, just a boy with a judgement so poor he had almost got himself drowned in a canal. Who was he to make such a decision? But mankind couldn’t stay here, in this imploding system. And he could never have walked into a booth himself. Perhaps others felt that way. So there was only one choice. Yes, he was a child, but he knew that no matter how long he lived the parameters of his life wouldn’t change – and nor would his choice.

He said as clearly as he could, ‘I have made my decision.’

And even as he spoke he thought he felt a stirring, emanating from deep under the clouds of Saturn, as if a great storm were brewing there.

Luru’s black eyes shone. ‘You’ve made a good choice. You’ve given humanity a chance.’

The Curator muttered, ‘You have courage, boy. I just hope you’ve wisdom too.’

A wind rose, whipping up red dust that clouded the sky.

The Curator cried, ‘Look!’

There was a new light in the sky. The clouds of Saturn were churning, and a harsh, pitiless light broke out. It was like a monstrous egg cracking, Symat thought.

Luru Parz laughed.

Mela cried, ‘So quickly?’

Luru smiled. ‘The Guardians have waited a million years to act. They are ready.’

But Symat wondered if he was ready. He knew he was too young to have come to terms with the idea of personal death. Now, suddenly, he was going to have to face it.

Mela ran to Symat and tried to grab him. The wind noise was too loud for him to hear the inevitable protocol chimes. Her eyes were wide, her face torn, as she yelled at him.

‘What did you say?’

She screamed louder. ‘It may not have to be this way…’

The egg cracked wider. Glass smashed somewhere in the city behind them, and every grain of dust on Earth took to the air. A tremendous light flooded the sky, dazzling him. And then—

‘Can you hear me? Symat, can you hear?’ It was Mela’s voice, but she was far away.

It was like waking up. But he had no sense of his body, of a bed, of blankets and sheets. He was surrounded by light.

He was light, he thought, but the idea didn’t disturb him. He was light, coming into focus.

And suddenly he could see. Mela’s face hovered before him, creased with concern. Beside her were other children. He recognised Chem, Tod.

He was standing. For a moment he was disconcerted, as if finding his balance, and he staggered slightly.

He stood on dusty ground, beside the crystal waters of a canal. A malevolent sliver of red sun poked above the horizon, but the air was still and pleasantly cool.

‘So I lived through it.’

‘Sort of,’ said Chem.

‘Earth has gone,’ Mela said. ‘Sent off into the future. But Mars is still here.’

‘My parents—’

‘They are coming.’ She looked more serious. ‘It will be difficult for them. For you.’

He looked at his hand. ‘I’m a Virtual.’

‘Yes. You’re a Virtual.’

‘My mother won’t be able to touch me. My parents will feel as if they have lost me.’

‘And you have lost them. But you have found us.’ Impulsively she reached for his hands – and held them. Her palms were warm and soft.

He smiled. ‘I told you I’d come back,’ he said to Chem.

Chem grinned.

‘You took your time,’ Tod said.

‘Listen,’ Mela said. ‘Can you hear them?’

Symat glanced around. ‘Hear what?’

‘Not outside. Inside.’ She tapped her chest.

When he listened inwardly, he could hear a distant murmuring, voices merging like a sea. It was the Conclave, the community of minds that spanned Sol system and now embraced him, a community of which he would be a part for ever. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I hear them.’

‘So what do you want to do now?’

‘I don’t know—’ A child’s shoe hit him in the chest.

Tod had thrown it. ‘You can save the world, but you can’t catch me!’

‘Oh, yes?…’

The four of them ran, and their laughter echoed from the banks of the drying Martian canal.

So Earth died but did not die. So Symat died, but did not die.

I did not die, of course.

How could I die? I had completed this project, but I have completed projects before, and history just keeps on piling up, whatever I do. So here I am, in the dark, alone.

Waiting for what comes next.

I remember so much, yet so little. I have seen mankind rise and fall – quite a story! But what stays with me are the faces, the endless torrent of faces, from Symat the ragamuffin whom I loved, to Symat the idealistic messiah-boy whom I bred to die. Each face blossoms like a flower and fades to dust, leaving me alone once more. Each face is a betrayal. Yet they are all I have.

Sometimes it feels as if it has all been a dream, from the instant I put Gemo Cana’s pill into my mouth. Perhaps in a moment I will wake to find myself under the shining domes of Conurbation 5204. And then, with my cadre siblings, I will run, laughing, in Sol’s yellow light.